


Wonderful Tonight

by cmshaw



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-06-20
Updated: 1998-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim needs a reason not to dance with a rich and powerful lady, so Blair helps him out (of the closet).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonderful Tonight

James Ellison was not fond of formal dances, nor of tuxedos, nor of tiny glasses of weak champagne. He wasn't particularly pleased that his partner wouldn't let him drink enough of the fizzy stuff to improve the party, and he was downright annoyed that his captain wouldn't let him sneak out the back entrance and go home.

In fact, he didn't think that this political fund-raising and money-spending shindig could get any worse, until it did.

"Oh fuck," whispered Jim. He tried to hide behind Blair, gave that up as a ridiculous idea almost immediately, and tried to hide behind Simon. He drew several surprised glances from the other detectives who had been pressed into black-tie brown-nosing duty.

"Jim?" said Simon, twisting around to frown at his friend. "What the hell is the matter now?"

"It's Miss Earline," Jim hissed back, irrationally convinced that if he raised his voice she would be able to home in on him and attack.

Several of the detectives turned in unison to look at the society lady in question; Jim groaned in frustrated anguish and gestured frantically for them to ignore her. He peeked around Simon's shoulder and nearly panicked as she made direct eye contact and smiled. Blood draining from his face, he ducked back behind the shelter of his captain's broad back. Henri Brown snickered.

"It's not funny, H," Jim snapped. "If I offend that woman we could find next year's budget cut in half."

Simon growled. "Then get out there and make nice, Ellison," he ordered.

"With all due respect, _sir_," Jim growled right back, "I transferred out of Vice to get _off_ the red-light beat."

"Oh, come on, Jim," said Blair, a teasing tone to his voice, "she's not half bad to look at. Swing her around the dance floor, give her a little thrill--"

"Give the lady an inch and she'll back me into a dark corner and grope me," interrupted Jim. He could feel his face burning. "As far as I'm concerned, any woman whose idea of a little thrill is fondling someone whose career she controls could be Miss America, _in_ the damn swimsuit right in front of me, and it wouldn't excite me."

"Hey, man," Blair said, resting a calming hand on Jim's arm, "I'm sorry. I didn't know she was like that." He radiated sincerity and left Jim with the impression that just for a moment he'd been the focus of Blair's entire world. Jim had no idea how the man did that, but it was almost worth arguing with him just to get that reconciliation. "You'd better do something, then, because she's headed this way," he added, and Jim blinked, having forgotten for a second who 'she' was.

Unfortunely, reality was intruding, or rather slinking towards him in a low-cut red dress and enough perfume to nearly drop him as thirty paces. He turned to his friends. "Somebody help me," he pleaded. Blank and even amused looks met his imploring gaze. "_Please_."

Blair sighed. "It's not like you don't already owe me plenty of favors, Jim, so, oh well." He took Jim's arm in a proprietary grip and pulled him out among the dancers just as the band struck up a fairly sedate swing tune, Jim following automatically as Blair towed him along. Once they were on the floor, Jim's partner released his arm and clasped his hand instead, lifting it up as he stepped almost nose-to-nose with Jim and wrapping his other arm around Jim's shoulders.

Jim laid his hand in the small of Blair's back and had started them moving with the music before he realized what he was doing.

"Don't stop," hissed Blair, pushing his hip aggressively into the next beat to keep Jim swaying in time.

"Chief, what--?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "You wanted an excuse not to dance with the woman, Jim. Now you've got one. Just pretend that at any time you've promised _me_ the next dance."

"But you-- but--" It was making a certain amount of sense. "But--" he tried again.

"Ye-e-es?" drawled Blair, tilting his head back to smirk at his dance partner.

To dance with Miss Janice Earline, or with Blair? Jim looked down at his best friend who was leaning comfortably back into the arm that Jim had wrapped around his waist. "Okay," he said with a shrug. "Thanks."

Blair smiled. "Hey, what are friends for?"

Jim shook his head and concentrated on not stepping on Blair's feet. It had been a long time since he'd gone out dancing with anyone. Still, he surprised himself by enjoying it. Maybe all those lessons on being "an officer and a gentleman" (the phrase could still make him laugh as he remembered a certain off-duty night when... well, better not to laugh at the moment) had sunk in as well as his more deadly army training had, or maybe Blair was simply an excellent dancer -- Jim's money was on the latter -- but they moved together perfectly. The thin layer of air between their bodies and the stiff fabric between Jim's hand and Blair's back were almost nonexistent to the Sentinel; he could feel the every move of the man in his arms as if it pressed against his own sensitized skin. He glanced down again to see that Blair was still smiling up at him. His eyes were bluer, somehow, than Jim remembered.

'Damn, the man is good,' he thought ruefully. 'No wonder women follow him around. I would too.'

He looked around as it suddenly dawned on him that he was dancing with another man at one of the fanciest galas the city of Cascade would admit to throwing. Simon was trying to catch his eye. Jim met his glare over Blair's shoulder and jerked his chin at Miss Earline, facing away from them on the other side of the highly decorated and poorly stocked buffet tables. He shrugged helplessly as Simon raised his eyebrows in disbelief, hoping the captain could see his face from this distance, and then Simon was out of sight as they continued turning around in the dance. The band segued into a new song, slightly faster than before.

Blair chuckled. "What?" Jim asked, meeting his eyes again.

"Man, you should see your face right now, Jim." Blair's eyes were sparkling in the refracted light from dozens of chandeliers, and Jim could feel him quivering with the effort not to bounce in place in time to the music.

"I'm trying real hard not to laugh and give the game away, Sandburg," he replied.

"Well, it comes out just looking smug," Blair informed him, "which is doing wonders for my reputation, I bet." His grin widened.

Jim rolled his eyes and swung Blair out to the next blare of the horns. The anthropologist spun around, ponytail flying behind him, and landed back in Jim's arms slightly breathless and even bouncier. There was no hope for Jim; Blair's happiness was contagious, and his partner had never found, or really wanted, an immunity to it. With a grin of his own, he let himself relax into the dance, pressing closer to Blair and swinging their bodies in easy rhythm. By the end of that song he was a little short of breath himself, and he could smell what had to be a light sheen of sweat across most of Blair's torso. Surprising himself yet again with his reluctance to end it, he stepped back and bowed graciously over Blair's hand. "Thank you for the dance," he said. "May I fetch you a drink?"

Blair did bounce, just a tiny bit, as he repressed the delighted laughter that Jim could almost see bubbling up within him. "Why, that would be most kind," he replied, tucking his hand into Jim's arm. He batted his eyelashes at Jim.

"Don't overdo it, Sandburg," Jim muttered.

"Spoilsport," Blair muttered back. They grinned at each other.

'I'm having way too much fun with this,' Jim told himself sternly, only to melt again with one look at his friend's profile. '_We're_ having too much fun,' he corrected himself, 'and so what?'

Simon and his gaggle of detectives joined them by the table bearing tiny plastic glasses of champagne. "Didn't you two look cute out there," said Megan Connor. The others spread out, probably unconsciously, to loosely encircle to two men still arm-in-arm. They all bore nearly identical smirks, even Simon -- the satisfied air of members of a closed society who were the first to grasp hold of a juicy bit of new gossip, Sandburg probably would have said. Jim refrained from laughing at them.

Blair smirked right back at them. Jim had a bare second in which to realize the vulnerable nature of his position before Blair spoke, and by then it was too late.

"Well, come on, guys," his irrepressible partner said, "we all know that I've gone through most of the eligible women in the department. What's left but to start in on the men?"

Brian Rafe made an impressive attempt to inhale his champagne through his nose, and revelations were put on hold for a minute while his partner pounded him on the back.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Sandburg," Simon said finally.

"Oh?" Blair began, and Jim cut him off.

"He's right, Chief. If that's your plan then I think you've made a tactical error here." Blair gave him an incredulous and slightly disappointed look. "Really, Chief, if you thought you were going to run through the men of the Cascade PD the way you did the women, you should _not_ have started off with the most jealous and possessive man on the force."

'Poker face,' he reminded himself, 'poker face. I can pull off deep cover assignments; I can keep my expression serious for just one more minute....'

Blair grinned and crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow in a challenging stare. Jim had never seen a challenging stare quite so sultry before. "Oh, so it's like that, huh, big guy?" Blair asked.

"Blair," Jim said, and was rather proud that he could still produce his usual exasperated tones. "You _cannot_ pose as my boyfriend and then go flirt with other men." He added a little snort, as if to say, What _were_ you thinking?

"Uh-huh," Blair replied dubiously. "And you can't pose as _my_ boyfriend, man, and then refuse to dance attendance on me all night."

Jim offered him a wide-eyed stare. "When did I refuse?" he asked, and leaned out of the circle of cops to lift a champagne glass from the table. He presented it to Blair with a tiny bow and accepted as his due the blinding smile that he received in return. Blair took a sip from the glass and tried out another sultry stare over the rim of it.

"Aren't you going to have any more?" he asked.

Jim shook his head. "I'm already feeling a bit tipsy, thanks."

Blair tucked his hand back around Jim's arm and pulled them toward the balcony windows. They left the Major Crimes peanut gallery behind as they strolled leisurely across the room. "Didn't you say that this champagne wasn't doing anything for you?" Blair asked.

Jim felt his mouth curl of its own vocation into a provocative smile. "I didn't say I was drunk on the _alcohol_," he answered, glancing sideways at his partner.

Blair's chuckle seemed to hit the resonant frequency of something inside the Sentinel's chest. "Well, Jim," the younger man said as he leaned closer to Jim's side, "I'm glad to see that you've relaxed and decided to enjoy the party."

They stood by the bay windows, looking out at Cascade's skyline. Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulders, realizing as he did so that the move came naturally to him after three years, as naturally as almost everything in this little 'boyfriends' charade they were playing.

'Such a fine line between buddy and beloved,' Jim mused, breathing deeply to savor the way Blair's scent tickled the back of his throat. 'I've crossed it, haven't I?' He studied his friend's face, looking for an answer. Blair turned and smiled at him yet again -- the man was just so _happy_ tonight -- and he felt it again: he was momentarily the center of Blair's universe.

Abruptly, he stepped away and held out his hand. "Dance with me again?" he asked.

Blair's hand slid into his. "Gladly," Blair said, and led him out onto the dance floor.

Jim threw himself into the music with abandon, relishing the way Blair's body swayed and spun in perfect synchronicity with his own. Blair was grinning at him and he was grinning right back, unable to repress what must have been an ridiculously goofy smile. They danced for several songs, Jim following Blair's guidance as the shorter man pulled him through increasingly complicated steps, and Jim couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun -- not that he bothered with reminiscences when he had such a bundle of energy be-bopping in his arms, but it seemed to the Sentinel to be the proper trite-but-true sentiment to express, if only to himself.

Then the band swung into a slower tune, half-recognizable as an old love song but crystal clear in its romantic mood. Jim let go of Blair's hands, and Blair looked up at him mournfully. With a tender smile, Jim shook his head and slid his hands around Blair's waist, enjoying the moment reflected in Blair's face when the other man understood him and slid his own hands up Jim's shoulders. Jim pulled his partner against his chest and felt Blair's head come to rest on his shoulder. He smiled his contentment into the loosely-bound curls above Blair's ear and let himself sway with the music. Blair sighed and leaned into his embrace. This was right. This was perfection, here with Blair's strong arms around his shoulders and Blair's warm body clasped to his chest. Jim closed his eyes to cherish it.

When the song ended, they stepped apart slowly. Jim took Blair's hand and led him silently back toward the wall where they'd been standing before. He ignored the people around them as the crowd moved in time and the music picked up speed. They found an open door and stepped out into the cool night air. A few people were standing by the railing, talking, but it was easy to find a corner where they wouldn't be watched. For a long minute, neither spoke; Jim couldn't tell whose pulse was pounding in his ears.

Finally, Blair turned to face his partner, eyes dark in the shadows. "You know it too, don't you?" he asked.

"I've always known it," Jim answered. "Tonight, I _noticed_." He placed one hand gently under the chin that Blair tilted up and caressed the soft skin of Blair's throat as their lips met. One warm hand came up around his neck and pulled him down hard into the kiss as Blair's mouth pressed hungrily into his. The heat that had coiled in Jim's belly all evening lashed through him wildly, and he gasped for air and groaned when Blair released him. He opened his eyes and gazed down at his partner, bringing his other hand up to cup Blair's face. "My god, Chief, do you have any idea how much I love you?" he whispered.

Blair smiled, lazy and seductive. "Lots, I hope," he said.

A sudden bark of laughter escaped Jim's lips. "Damn right," he said, and slid his hands down to Blair's shoulders to pull the other man closer to him. "Make love to me," he whispered, voice roughening again. He caught the twitch of Blair's mouth. "No, not right here," he continued, rolling his eyes affectionately. "Tonight, when we go home. Sleep with me tonight."

Blair leaned up and brushed his lips gently over Jim's. "Yes," he said softly. "I'd like that." They smiled, and kissed again. Blair twined his arms around Jim's neck, and James Ellison's world was wonderful that night.

 


End file.
